


Not your hero

by Chevalier_Hiver



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, Author obviously has strange favs among skaters, Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, Injury, Lillehammer 1994 Winter Olympics, Mentioned Other Figure Skaters, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23642044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chevalier_Hiver/pseuds/Chevalier_Hiver
Summary: People always want to find a hero.If they have chosen you and you can't be like an ideal picture in their minds, they will never forgive you.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Not your hero

**Author's Note:**

> I have written several really big fs-fics in russian, but this is my first serious attempt to write in english, don't be strict.  
> I have very, very strange fs-crushes, that's true, I don't expect many readers, but if you read it - i hope you enjoy.

_Children we were — our forts of sand were even as weak as we,_

_High as they went we piled them up to break that bitter sea._

_Fools as we were in motley, all jangling and absurd,_

_When all church bells were silent our cap and bells were heard._

**_Gilbert Chesterton_ **

Nobody believed him to take the Olympic gold. Lesha didn’t believe himself – he was a young boy, with a solid technical content and choreo skills, that was true, but he had really horrible spins, his costumes and choreography usually were funny for the western audience. In addition, the main problem – he was really, really unstable. Just do a quad toe attempt, when you almost haven’t ice time (because your rink usually wants to be a swimming pool) and you are tall like a pair skater! This was the case, why he didn’t go to a quad. “Stojko didn’t do it”, - maybe this was one single thought, which he had during his skate. No, there were another one – “just skate, Lesha, just do it, like a simple exercise, don’t worry about your results”.

They already were winner, all of them, Russian team, because the reality of their country…wasn’t really good. Evidentially, yes – revolutions can give you liberty, but they can’t give you even a piece of bread. Their rinks were almost ruined, their federation didn’t pay them for months, and if his mom didn’t sacrifice her scientific career, if she didn’t start working as a cook, what gave her a some possibilities to take some waste food for her and her son…the starvation could go in their lives, real starvation. May be…like his granny got over during the siege of Leningrad. When the leaders of their old big country carved it like a chocolate cake, maybe they forgot a little about fucking millions of their people, who wanted to eat at least twice a day.

However, their team was there, in the small Norwegian city. This already was their win, he wanted to think them as a real heroes of their homeland. They couldn’t give their compatriots any food or something…material, but may be…some joy? What about some faith and some pride? Maybe they could revive good memory about the glory moments of their past and…something…like said them “everything is gonna be allright, trust us”.

He didn’t really think about it during his skate – it was the light feeling inside his mind and heart. It made him also light like a big strong bird, like a swan, and it helped him to drop all of his usual fears.

_“Just fly”_

Little error on his flip and bad camel spin. No popped jumps, no fails and eight triple jumps. Great for him – Stojko did seven.

\- Good job, - said Alexei Nikolayevich, his coach. – We must just wait your marks.

_“Don’t worry, Lesha. Can you imagine this? You are on podium, this is evident”_

It was his boldest dream – Olympic medal, no matter, what colour it would be. The bronze was unbelievable success for him.

\- You can take the gold.

\- I don’t know, Stojko was great and Candeloro, and…

\- Oh, shit up, Lesha. It’s no time for you reflections, we’ll talk about your errors. Later. Don’t interrupt me, I want to count your marks.

There was one moment of silence before the mechanical voice, which spoke Norwegian.

That’s was good enough for podium, well, mostly 5.8. Solid, really solid, but in artistic…

\- One, two, three, four, five…

Alexei Nikolayevich counted well, Lesha couldn’t even think about numbers on the screen.

\- Yes, - this one word of his coach meant all.

He was ahead of Elvis Stojko. Ahead of everybody. He was first. Well, there were the last two skaters after him, Scott Davis and his comrade in arms, Oleg.

\- Just wait, - said Alexei Nikolayevich. – Just wait me. Here. I must give the last instruction to Oleg.

\- Okay, - one single word. He couldn’t tell more at this time, he didn’t want to talk with somebody.

For him, that was the great silence in his ears, even when Scott’s music started. Lesha felt himself as he is sleeping, he saw Scott to fail his jumps, even triple toe at the end of his program. He saw Alexei Nikolayevich to instruct Oleg, who failed almost everything in his skate and set in kiss&cry with a real fear and despair on his face.

That was all, and at this time of his brightest triumph, Lesha suddenly felt a panic, a horrible fear.

Everything would be be changed. Now, he was an Olympic Champion, and he couldn’t even imagine his duty, his responsibilities… What sort of behavior must be chosen?

At least, not the image of little timid boy. He had to show for everyone his strength, his confident and fierce, the image of a hero he was not.

\- Lesha? Hell take you, where are you? – Alexei Nikolayevich called him. – Medal ceremony is started in a few minutes, where you are, stupid boy?

Something never changes. “Stupid boy”, like five years ago, when Lesha went to Yubileyny for the very first time. Alexei Nikolayevich usually called all of his students “boy” or “girl”, sometimes “idiot”, but never call them by their own names. When he called Lesha “hey, you, tall boy”, Lesha answered him: “My name is Alexei”. Since that moment, he was an exception in this strict rule – usually.

_“Don’t be a coward, Lesha”._

\- I’m here. Just…just a moment.

His coach already had found him.

\- What’s the matter? You are a fucking Olympic champion, what’s wrong? You seems…not very joyful.

\- I’m okay. Really. Seriously, don’t worry.

Alexei Nikolayevich snorted skeptically.

\- When you say this way, it means I must be enormously attentive, because you are obviously not okay. Just say me. Please.

\- I…I’m…just have a little fear.

\- Really? Now, not during your skate? Lesha, that’s all, you were really great and now you are a champion. That’s all. You made all that you could make. Today you can forget about an indigence and…that’s you day, Lesha. I know, somebody calls you “Prince”…

\- This is…

\- I don’t finish! That’s true. Today you became a Prince of Lillehammer, today you should to celebrate your victory. I prefer to see you drunk as hell than sad as donkey Eeyore!

\- I know about my glorious future. That’s the matter which make me fear, - said Lesha very quiet.

There was a moment of a sever silence.

\- Well… Like always, you are atypical champion, Lesha, - Alexei Nikolayevich said gently and kind, at the same time it was atypical for him. – What about… I mean, Lesha, there is more than five years of our collaboration. Sometimes we have some conflicts, but usually we are the great team, we fought against an every problem together. Noblesse oblige, something like that? You are afraid about your glory and public attention, because they want you to be a cinematographic winner?

\- Yes. They…now I must go to journalists, they want to ask me…obviously, in English. I’ll say something ridiculous, because my English as poor as a trump from Uprising Square, and then I’ll go to medal ceremony like…an impostor. They always said…

\- Shuck! You will always be yourself. Lesha Urmanov, a simple boy from Leningrad, funny, irritable, shy and close, but at the same time brave, stubborn, hard-working and very, very talented. You aren’t a robber, you aren’t an impostor, because there are neither bright images nor past merits which gives somebody a legitimate title. Just two good skates. Therefore, they will be able to deal with an Olympic champion who can’t speak English and too shy for looking to their cameras. There are their own fucking problems, not yours. Now, go to journalist, say them something and then the medal ceremony starts.

Alexei Nikolayevich hugged him short and pushed him away.

Later Lesha couldn’t remember clear, what he told them all.

\- I…did make what I did can, - He laughed a bit shy and went away.

He made his usual greeting and smiled. Despite of all fears… This was the great day, when the Olympic gold medal was on his chest, the Russian anthem sounded in the cold air of the rink, and even his rival, Elvis, gave him a warm smile.

\- Great job, - he said. – You are classical as hell, but…not bad, I mean. Congratulations!

Lesha returned a smile and answered something unclear, with horrible grammatical errors. His bad English obstructed his communication with the others except post-soviet skaters, maybe he had to feel himself alone, but it wasn’t the real problem for him that time. It was the incredible dream. His reaction was slow. So many congratulations, so many words, so many faces. He remembered only several of them: Oleg, still so sad, attempted to be happy for him, his comrade in arms and practices.

\- It was…bad luck, Oleg, Just bad luck. Next time will be yours, obviously, - It was pretty hard to say somebody about another chance with an Olympic medal on the chest, but Oleg never was really resentful.

Next to congratulate him, representing Russian pair skating – Natasha, his ex-girlfriend, who kissed his cheek and told him something warm, but he couldn’t remember her words later, and her skating partner, Arthur, Lesha’s best friend. Arthur always had a specific sort of wisdom, that was the case, that they suddenly found themselves in their hotel room, pretty drunk, and they were still having a half of bottle of cognac.

\- But…exhibitions… - Lesha said with a dying sense of duty.

\- You have an old short program yet, stop worrying now and let’s drink one more. This is really necessary, when you have become an Olympic champion, trust me, Lesha, I have an Albertville’s experience.

They drunk one more, Lesha felt himself very sleepy, but despite of this he asked:

\- Arthur, you seems to be an expert. What…what is the meaning of being an Olympic champion? I mean – what I will have to do tomorrow and every day since this moment of victory?

\- You must live. Just this. Only. How? That’s depend only of you personal plans. Really, now it’s your chance to respire. Olympic gold is the chance to forget about poorness and think, what you want to do.

\- I…I just want to be an amateur skater, as long as it possible, - Lesha confessed to him. – All of these shows are so stupid…

\- Hey, you are sleepy as a baby. Sleep, you should to think about your living philosophy tomorrow or even later.

And Lesha slept, slept as s child. May be if he knew more about his future, his dreams wouldn’t be so sweet, but at that moment he just was a crowned Prince of Lillehammer.


End file.
